


The Mysterious Case of the Vanishing Passengers

by Alkaline_Alice



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alkaline_Alice/pseuds/Alkaline_Alice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When passengers begin vanishing from the underground, Lestrade doesn't know where to start. John draws Sherlock's attention to the key detail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mysterious Case of the Vanishing Passengers

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Includes descriptions of death and implies scenes of torture. Do not continue if this may be a problem/trigger.

 

 

12:15am Thursday 10th October. Bank station

Sophie hated working late, but when significant members of a well known family need to shop, after closing hours is easier than cordoning off an entire department. Glancing down the platform she could see an innocent tourist, or possibly just a student, who looked remarkably like a psycho. She clutched her handbag tighter as the familiar breeze announced her trains approach, keeping her back against the wall just in case. The train was empty, and to Anna’s relief her platform companion boarded a different carriage. The standard voice sounded and the doors shut, allowing Anna to relax in the empty space. Her eyes followed the brightly coloured posters on the curved tube wall as they began to slide past the windows, the carriages ahead slowly snaking around the first corner after dipping into the dark tunnel. Anna didn’t notice the too-clean state of the carriage, or that there was another person in her carriage, in fact she barely even noticed the carriage lights flicker.

 

2:00pm Sunday 13th October. The Stag and Pheasant pub Baker Street

Sunday afternoon for John was spent with Greg Lestrade, and a pint or two of bitter, talking about anything that didn’t involve Sherlock Holmes.

“Met anyone nice since I last saw you?” Greg asked, his first drink of the week hurtling towards his dry lips. John simply looked at him, a look of exasperation spreading across his face. “Again… how long did it take him?” Greg sighed, his drink descending back to the table untouched.

“She hadn’t even made it into the hallway, he’s a liability” he chuckled darkly, “what about you?”

Greg shook his head, taking a long drink before he spoke, “too busy this week, had a weird one on the underground but I’m not calling _him_ in, I don’t think I can handle his ego just yet.”

“How weird?” John said, sitting back and waiting with a smile

Greg took another drink and shifted in his seat, “thirty five year old marketing manager gets on the last train home, Bank station, disappears without a trace. But the weirdest thing is the CCTV, she literally disappeared, one second she was there, the next she was gone.”

John put his drink down, staring in confusion “disappeared…” he said, then shook himself, “marketing manager, I bet there was a healthy list of enemies?”

“You’d expect so, her colleagues said she was a bit of an ice queen, but no one has ever shown that level of animosity” Greg said, leaning forwards slightly, “did something ring a bell?”

John shook his head, “it’s not the same” he muttered, but Greg gestured for him to continue anyway, “you’ve heard those urban myths, like the underground pusher or the nightclub injector… but this sounds more like a movie” John said, raising his hand in surrender.

 

10:30pm Thursday 17th October. Knightsbridge station

It was raining hard enough that the streets flowed, twigs and leaves blocking the drainage, none of it reached the underground station, unless rung out of coats or shaken from umbrellas. Victoria skidded on the tiled floor in a very undignified manner, glancing around quickly to make sure no one had seen, but her only companions on the platform were a young couple at the far end of the platform, too engrossed in each other to even notice Victoria’s presence. Shaking out her umbrella, she took a seat on the platform, idly watching the digital display count down the minutes until she could speed home to her cat, and perhaps some Chinese takeaway. Finally Victoria recognised the jagged jingle from the rails below and stood, idly glancing over to the couple as the train slid into the station. She boarded an empty carriage, sitting on a discarded newspaper and resting her umbrella beside her. Opening her tablet as the train shuddered to life, she rolled her eyes when the lights flickered, shadows obscuring a news report with a familiar name.

 

11:30pm 221b Baker Street

John was just on his way to bed when the phone rang, he paused in the doorway and glanced over at Sherlock, who had spent the last two hours staring at a spot just south of the light bulb. After a few shrill seconds, John sighed and walked to the desk to answer it.

“Can you come to Scotland Yard?” Lestrade’s voice crackled down the line

“Sure, Sherlock too?” John half-smiled

“Oh, hi John, we’ve had another on the underground, put a rocket under him” Lestrade said, his voice much quieter.

“Sure, on our way” John said, hanging up and turning, halting mid-breath when he found Sherlock tightening his scarf

“Did he say where this one disappeared?” Sherlock asked bluntly, turning to stride out of the room

“No…” John said, thinking he should ask how he knew, but realising there was no point.

 

The three convened in Lestrade’s office, going over the details of the disappearances and watching the CCTV footage. The images showed a well dressed woman, sitting alone in a carriage, the doors close and the camera shudders as the train begins to move along to platform. Seconds after the carriage is immersed in the tunnel, the lights flicker, darkening the image, but once the image returns the woman is gone.

“I just don’t see how there’s enough time, no signs of a struggle, the train didn’t stop, the doors didn’t open” Greg said, slumping into his chair

“Was there anyone else on the train?” John asked

“Yes, both times. But you can’t move between carriages, and they have no recollection of seeing the women at all” Greg said, flicking through a file of statements.

“Has the footage been analysed for tampering?” John said, feeling like he was clutching at straws

“Tonight’s is being processed, but last week’s was cleared. Tonight we had a security guard witness it live, he called the next station to have them check the train” Greg said, looking more and more exasperated.

“I need to see the train” Sherlock said plainly

“It’s at Ealing Common, Dimmock’s over there already” Greg said, clearly not intending on joining them

 

Ealing Common was a long taxi ride, John fighting the urge to doze in the warm, comfortable interior, Sherlock staring out of the window into the darkness, only moving to occasionally fire off a text. When they arrived at Ealing Common station Sherlock strode towards the lone carriage, pausing only to duck under the police tape, John joined DI Dimmock by the doors.

“Doctor Watson, it’s been a while” the young detective said

“It has, back before I knew what I was getting myself into” John chuckled, “so there’s nothing inside, no sign of her?”

“No, but I’ve been proved wrong before” he said, “help yourself”

 

John climbed onto the train, almost colliding with one of the tall, harsh lights, which stood on unwieldy tripods by each of the doors, illuminating every corner of the unremarkable carriage. Sherlock’s form was precariously balanced between a seat and ceiling pole, examining the built-in CCTV cameras, housed in boxes which were inaccessible without a special key.

“Found something?” John asked hopefully

Sherlock said nothing at first, dropping down to stalk along the carriage to the next camera, swinging onto the seat and leaning across, “digital footage can be as unreliable as an eye witness, but that is only half of the problem”

He dropped down to the floor again, continuing to the last camera, “the question we should focus on is, how are they connected?”

 

5:45pm Friday 18th October. Baker Street

John arrived home from the surgery, having been sent out to give Sherlock ‘thinking space’, to find the living room wall redecorated with sheets of paper, some printed and some scrawled in Sherlock’s handwriting.

“Made any progress?” he asked, dropping into his chair

“How many people would you estimate you’ve met, in your lifetime?” Sherlock said, standing from his chair and walking over to the wall of paper.

“Met, as in, had a conversation with?” John said, pushing himself up to join him.

“Yes, including your schooling, university and career” Sherlock said, his eyes darting over the wall, before landing on John

“Wow, a lot, probably five thousand?” he said, the first number to pop into his head

“Not bad, but it can be anything from that up to two hundred thousand people. What about people you’ve spent time with, anything from a day upwards?” Sherlock said with a slightly impressed smile.

“Hmm, a couple of hundred?” John said, a little more confidently

“Good, and of those, how many would your sister be able to name?” Sherlock said

John thought he saw where this was going, “honestly, five, and that’s being generous”

“But I should expect it isn’t very different from the average, which is obviously dependant on age and gender amongst other things” Sherlock said, turning back to the wall, “we have two women with no apparent connection, but they both worked in professions were they met a lot of people. They’ve worked in several different companies in their careers, never the same one, but at any given time, could have had cause to be in contact” Sherlock said, gesturing at the wall while he spoke, but coming to rest with his hands steepled beneath his chin.

 

8:30pm Tuesday 22nd October. Baker Street.

John stood with his cup of tea, reading the wall, which was now covered in extra notes and pieces of string which had previously connected the women, but now hung loosely from their pins, having been snapped in Sherlock’s fit of frustration on Sunday night. His eyes lingered on a page from a personnel record, but before he had a chance to compare, Sherlock burst through the room.

“I knew it, a very interesting development” he said, waving a flash-drive in the air, “the cameras were set up to play a pre-recorded view of the carriage, giving the kidnapper time to work”

“So the culprit must work for the underground, or know someone who does” John said, smiling proudly at his idea

Sherlock paused, looking a little confused, “not necessarily, the underground employs a significant number of contract workers. No, what this tells us is that we can watch the next kidnapping and how they leave the carriage. Lestrade is arranging for a presence at each of the central stations, and a team will be joining us to follow the next target.”

 

9:00pm Wednesday 24th October. Euston station

Edgar knew what was happening, he read the newspaper, recognised the names. Normally he would drive into the city, his job affording him the option, but that morning his car simply wouldn’t start. He’d been looking over his shoulder all day, shrugging off comments that he looked like he’d seen a ghost, but secretly waiting and dreading the journey home. Euston was full of life, tourists and locals, old and young. Edgar took comfort in the jostling as he made his way down to the underground platform, earning a few strange looks, but he was oblivious, too focussed on making it home and staying in the crowd. Boarding the train Edgar had to straighten his smile, but his relief was short lived as the train stopped at each station, shedding passengers quickly. Two stations from home and Edgar was alone, holding the pole in the middle of the carriage, looking around for any sign of danger. When the train pulled away from the penultimate stop Edgar watched the rear of the train, squinting along the line of windows to check no one had boarded. As he turned to look towards the front, his eyes fell on a face, familiar but too young. Just as Edgar made the connection, his face falling into inevitable fear, the lights in the carriage began to flicker.

 

1:00am Scotland yard

John had watched Sherlock answer the call from Lestrade as they waited outside Euston station, Sherlock’s odd choice of target, his exasperated sigh telling John everything he needed to know. They’d been close, perhaps close enough to spook the kidnapper, but preying on both of their minds was how many more chances they might have left. John and Greg were now sat watching the camera footage, the calm approach, attempted escape, and then the kidnapper appeared to do something to the victim’s neck and they left the tube together.

Sherlock was sat across the room, flicking between cameras to watch the progress of his suspect, “Lestrade, you can officially call it a murder case” he said suddenly.

“What have you found?” Greg said

Sherlock smiled, “a spike, inserted into the base of the neck has two possible outcomes. Wiggle it and you have instant death, waggle it and you have paralysis. They switched lines and disembarked at Goodge street, a startling commentary on the British public, they didn’t notice a man carrying a corpse, probably due to the victim’s small stature, or to the, fake yet convincing, drunken behaviour of the murderer” he said, rewinding the tape to show the victim and suspect surrounded by passengers “He wiggled when he should have waggled”.

Greg sighed and looked at Sherlock, “so what now, we start combing the tunnels? We’ve got to narrow it down somehow”

Sherlock nodded, looking back at the screen, “there must be a pattern” he said quietly.

 

3:00am Sunday 27th October. Baker Street

Sherlock had been staring out of the window for a while, a small part of his mind aware and amused that his friend had fallen asleep with his head on the paperwork.

John woke suddenly, gasping and sitting bolt upright, a page stuck to his cheek. He pulled it off and gazed at it intently to hide from Sherlock’s obvious amusement, “wait a second, I noticed this the other day” he said, standing to search through the pile of pages.

After a moment he found what he was looking for, holding up the three pages of employment record to Sherlock, “it’s one of those team-building exercises, all three at the same time, but there are no details recorded.”

Sherlock’s expressions changed and he took the pages, staring at them intently before opening the laptop and typing furiously, “get some sleep, we’ve got a lot to do before Thursday.”

 

7:00pm Thursday 31st October. Scotland Yard

When John arrived at Lestrade’s office he was eager to find out what Sherlock knew, when he’d left Baker street that morning his friend had been on the phone, manipulating someone into giving up information he wanted.

“What did I miss?” he asked as he walked into the room and closed the door.

Sherlock’s smile was verging on smug, “we know who and how, and Lestrade is about to set a trap.” Greg looked between the pair, then stood and left muttering something about it being his office.

“John, you never fail to amaze me” Sherlock said, indicating John should sit.

“Thanks, I think” John said quietly

“Amongst all the irrelevant data, you pinpointed the exact link” he continued, leaning on Greg’s chair, “The three victims we know of, and one abducted from Manchester, attended a team building exercise in the Scottish Highlands, along with five others. That weekend the group was isolated due to bad weather, one attendee later committed suicide, knits together into a classic breakdown of society scenario. The suicide, Gloria Wood, had a daughter, who has worked for the London underground for the last two years, handing in her letter of resignation a week before the first disappearance. Her job included maintenance on the CCTV cameras and some customer service, so I’m sure you can imagine her train of thought when she came face to face with one of the people she blames for her mother’s death” he said, holding up a small square of paper.

John leaned forward, squinting at the paper, “Sophie Barker, lost wallet, returned” he read.

“The signature John, Charlotte Wood, the daughter, who also signed the form for sending the wallet back, after probably copying down the address to learn her targets routine” Sherlock continued, moving a sheet of paper to the side.

“So… Lestrade’s trap?” John asked, still processing the information.

“Peter Halloway, the only other team member still in the country, is going to be our bait, so we can follow our killer to her lair and to the other victims” Sherlock said, straightening his jacket as he stepped around the table, smiling broadly

“Right, has he explained why she might be doing this?” John said, pushing himself out of the chair.

Sherlock strode to the door, clearly eager to get started, “he said Gloria bore the brunt of the groups frustration, bullied because she was the navigator and the group blamed her for them become stranded”, he explained as they walked along the corridor, “although why a stranger’s opinion would matter” he added quietly.

 

11:00pm Piccadilly Circus Station

As Peter left work he tried to focus on something benign, the meeting with police detectives had shot his nerves to the point where he just felt numb. He decided this was probably a good thing, adding a level of oblivious to his normal business demeanour. The streets were still full, but not even the buses phased Peter, until he arrived at the station. He stood to the side of the escalators, in no rush to meet his destiny, flinching reflexively as shoulders and bags bumped him, the costumes of party goers not helping his fear. Peter followed the crowd onto a carriage, leaning against the end wall, forcing himself to look away from the startling grim reaper costume. He counted the stops as the train made it’s way across the city, surprised when most of the passengers disembarked at Covent Garden, the rest at Holborn. As the train slid into the tunnel, Peter moved to sit, perching on the edge of the bench seats, staring at the floor and hoping with everything he had that the police were right behind him. The train wheels screeched as the tunnel curved towards Russell Square, Peter’s eyes flickered up in time to see his reflection flicker in the windows. It took his brain a second to register it was the lights, as they flickered again, and a tall silhouette appeared beside him.

 

11:15pm Russell Square

Sherlock had talked his way onto the same tube as the target, on the understanding he lost the coat and tried not to stare. Dressed unconvincingly in a hoody and jeans, he spotted the flickering lights and, pulling out a tool John had never seen before, began opening the first door to the adjoining carriage. He was sprinting along the carriage when he saw the black clad figure struggling with the target, with only one set of doors between them, and the police approaching from the opposite end. Sherlock burst through the doors just as figure and target rolled out through an open side door, he ran to the door as the train began to break, John colliding with him.

“You can’t follow” John shouted over the sound of rushing air and squealing breaks.

Sherlock looked along the narrow gap between the train and tunnel wall, briefly looking back at John, before grabbing his arm and leaping from the train.

They landed in a heap, having passed through a wide service arch, John looking over at his flatmate with thinly veiled contempt.

“A warning would be nice” he said, pushing himself to his feet.

“You would have hesitated” Sherlock smiled, breaking into a sprint along the service tunnel. John followed behind, following the sound of Sherlock when he could no longer see him. Up ahead a faint light spilled from under a door, John caught up as Sherlock crouched to peer through the crack. The distant sound of Scotland Yard constables echoed along the tunnel, John glanced back as Sherlock rose, opening the door and stepping inside. Keeping to the shadows Sherlock crept towards the light, turning his head back to look at John when he heard a voice.

As they peered around the edge of a doorway the scene shocked them both, four people in varying states of consciousness and one corpse, all tied to up-ended bed frames, being preached to by a wildly gesturing figure in black. Sherlock nodded to John to stay put and stepped back into the shadows of the room, moments before Lestrade appeared next to John, who pointed to the figure, and the trigger he was holding connected to wires leading to each hostage.

Lestrade was about to speak when Sherlock appeared, stumbling into the room below, looking remarkably like a homeless drunk.

“You puttin’ on a show?” he slurred, loud enough for everyone to hear

“Who are you?” the woman in black said sharply, stepping towards Sherlock, “how did you get in here?”

Sherlock leant against one of the bed frames, swaying and sipping from a rolled paper bag, “looks like yer got yerself a nice little audience” he said, waving the bottle randomly

His eyes followed the figure, who picked up a long knife from the table and walked over slowly, “stupid drunken fool” she muttered.

The knife glinted in the overhead lights as it paused over her head, Sherlock darted quickly to one side, barging the bed frame beside him out of the way and clearing John’s line of sight.

A shot rang out and a woman’s scream echoed around the underground, the black figure falling to the floor and clutching her shoulder, screaming obscenities as the stream of constables reached her.

John came to stand beside Sherlock as the rolled bag was tossed aside, “pushing your luck a little?” he said quietly

“I saw your gun before we left, you just required a clear shot” Sherlock said, watching as five of the constables hauled the struggling woman to her feet, “good shot though”.

“I think I knew what you were planning to do” John said as Lestrade approached, “well, when you leant against that frame a little too hard the first time”.

A flash of pride crossed Sherlock’s face as he turned to greet the detective inspector, “I’d say that was a result, only one casualty and the perpetrator survives to experience the full weight of the law”

Greg and John looked at each other, “I should think she’ll be sectioned, these aren’t the actions of a stable mind” Greg said, looking back at the prisoner still squirming as she was hauled from the room, “I can’t even imagine what she had planned here”

“Some form of twisted retribution” John said, “probably best not to think about it.”

They walked back out into the service tunnels as paramedics swarmed into the room, their path was now quite well lit and sounds of the prisoner still echoing.

“So begins a new urban legend” Sherlock said, turning his collar up and setting off along the tunnel.


End file.
